I once read that depression is like drowning, except everyone around you is breathing.
You are alone. Sinking. Gasping for air. Your peers smile and surf the waves. You scream for a life vest, but they can’t hear you with your lungs full of water. Help. You see a bright future dancing on the shoreline, but your legs refuse to tread. Your arms are so tired from reaching. The familiar coldness of the depths swallow you whole. Will anyone miss me?
I avoided this subject for years because it is something all too personal to me. Many talented writers have already described the suffocating yet welcoming call of the void. I needed to find a fresh, new approach that I could make my own. If I was going to transform my pain into physical form, I wanted to do it right. With much hesitation, I finally discovered my angle.
What if depression could talk?
Hi, my name is depression, and you’ll never see me coming.
I weaved my poison into your family’s heritage. I fixed your disposition. You never stood a chance.
I have made a home in your mind, and don’t feel like leaving anytime soon. I like it here. The imbalance fuels my fire, and your broken pieces are my kindling.
Your loved ones smile from your presence, but I never let it reach your heart. They will eventually leave you just like the rest. You are a burden.
When did you think I would disappear? Junior high? High school graduation? Your wedding day? I am your destiny, and I will be your legacy. Your days are numbered.
You were never meant to fly. You should be ashamed of your wings’ ragged, stained, broken edges.
You are not a butterfly. You’re a moth trying so desperately to find the light, but the darkness has always followed you. That’s why the morning sun burns your skin. Keep the blinds closed.
You can drown yourself in money, power, fame and love. You can hide behind closed door and sleep in a warm bed, but I will always find you when you least expect it.
You preach about loving others because you crave so deeply to feel loved yourself. I have made sure that those three little words create doubt, and hold the power to shatter you if they are taken away.
Some days, when I am at my strongest, I strip you of your ability to shower, drink water, reply to text massages or even get out of bed. Days like that are few and far between because you are resilient. Don’t worry. I am patient.
I must say that I am impressed with your strength and determination. Not many people resist my call, but you do it daily. I have guided many greats to their graves. You are no exception.
Even as you write about me, your fingers shake. You wonder if being this vulnerable will actually make a difference or leave a crimson stain on your positive, bubbly branding. See, that’s my secret. I thrive in the stigma. I grow powerful in silence.
I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Maybe next week or in a couple of hours. You never know. I have been quite busy with everyone isolating themselves. COVID-19 and I have become good friends.
All my love (isn’t that how you do it?),
Part 2 coming October 10th…
All my love,